Serendipity
by Moriarty's Diary
Summary: Jim and Sherlock, the well-known criminal duo, are masochists. They kidnap those who threaten their personal lives and torture them. When one of their captured was nearly beaten to the point of death, Sherlock suggests that they hire a doctor to look after their prisoners. What Jim doesn't know is that Sherlock purposely harms himself to see Dr. Watson. If Jim finds out, well...
1. Torture

**Jim/Sherlock to Sherlock/John  
The transition will occur. I've got a plan.  
Rated M: Sex, language, abuse(?), self-harm and other mature content. Lol but you knew that.**

**If you despise Jim/Sherlock (Sheriarty/Jimlock) please do not read...** 

* * *

Chapter 1

"Pass me the whip." Jim ordered, his right hand outstretch and his fingers twitching with anxiousness. Sherlock obliged, grabbing the leather whip with metal tips. He placed it in Jim's hand. Jim curled his fingers around the leather, ripping it from Sherlock's grasp.

"Do you think you can get away with something like this?" Jim taunted the man kneeling in front of him.

Jim and Sherlock had kidnapped a spy sent out to gather information on their whereabouts. When Sherlock found out who this spy was working for, he was not happy. When he told Jim about the spy, Jim was livid and lashed out immediately. They brought the spy into their underground dungeon, where most of their captives were being held. Daily, Jim would come down to punish them all for even thinking to do such a thing. Sherlock always stood by, watching. He didn't dare touch any of them.

Sherlock wasn't particularly content with how things were going. He didn't agree with the way Jim decided to deal with his anger, but he wouldn't let him know that. If it made Jim happy to do this, then he would gladly allow him to continue despite the predicament's inhumane actions. He stopped caring a long time ago.

Jim prepared the whip, holding it up before bringing it down with an audible _whooshing _sound. The metal tips scathed across the whimpering man's back. The pain was so excruciating that he cried out a strangled scream. Blood oozed from the cuts and gashes that decorated his back, creating ever-growing pools.

"P-please..." The pained man begged in a thick, undistinguished accent.

Jim coiled back, marvelling at his work. The man was now lying in his pool of blood, barely moving.

"Begging doesn't work on me, dear." Jim shrugged with a smirk.

Sherlock frowned, a familiar feeling of guilt surging through him. He always felt guilt for allowing Jim to do this, but never once had he stopped him. "Jim?" Sherlock cooed, his voice quiet and soft.

Jim turned around, his whole demeanour changing at the sound of Sherlock's voice caressing his name. "What's wrong, love?"

Sherlock blinked, glancing at the beaten body. Their captive is losing too much blood and is at risk of dying. Sherlock wouldn't stand for another death to occur. He had to convince Jim to slow down.

"Let's go upstairs, I'm getting bored."

Jim's lips curved into a devious smile. He knew exactly what Sherlock wanted.

"Of course."

* * *

Sherlock pushed Jim down onto their massive bed. Pillows varying in sizes and shapes contoured around them, the cotton sheets were messy and shoved to the sides. The room was dimly lit, accenting the maroon colours that seemed to be everywhere. It was night fall, the moon shone through the white laced curtains.

Sherlock roughly kissed Jim, bringing his hands up to cradle his lover's face. His right hand tangled itself in his short hair, gripping it tightly. Jim groaned in both pleasure and pain. He loved it when Sherlock was bored, it meant he was in the mood for something harsh and exciting.

Jim's hand dragged the length of Sherlock's stomach, stopping as he felt the cold buttons that made his jeans. Fumbling to unbutton them, Sherlock grabbed his hand and pushed it aside.

"Not yet." He breathed against Jim's neck. Although he was utterly impatient to get on with it, he wanted to take his time. Sherlock liked teasing Jim in his own way.

Jim moaned as his partner nipped and sucked his way down the length of his neck then back up. He stopped at Jim's ear, taking his earlobe between his teeth and gently tugging it. Jim squirmed, his hands placed firmly against Sherlock's chest. The heat between them was nearly unbearable. At this point, Jim was panting vigorously. Never in his life has a person made him feel this aroused so quickly by doing so little.

"Please, Sherlock." Jim pleaded, his voice drowned by his heavy breathing.

Sherlock smirked and chuckled darkly. "Begging doesn't work on me, dear."

And Jim whimpered, remembering that he said the exact same words he used earlier. Jim knew exactly what he was doing: torturing.

Without even knowing it, Jim realized he was shirtless. He looked at Sherlock and found him sitting atop of him, holding his white t-shirt in his hands. Sherlock had a sly smile on his face, impressed and pleased that he managed to distract Jim so well to take off his shirt.

With great force, Jim pushed himself up and grabbed Sherlock's head, roughly kissing his lips. His hands tangled themselves in Sherlock's hair and tugged on it much more harshly than Sherlock liked. Sherlock collapsed on the bed, a muffled wail escaping his lips. Jim took that moment to his advantage and pinned his love down with his body.

"Your turn." He grinned, managing to switch from his submissive role. Getting what he wanted, Sherlock obliged and helped him take off his jeans. Jim tossed them to the ground along with his underwear. "Wow, love. Hard for me already?" He remarked.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he laughed out of sheepishness. Jim allowed silence to follow as he brought himself down to Sherlock's cock. Without hesitation, Jim took him in his mouth.

"Oh, god." Sherlock breathed, his hand instinctively bringing itself to the back of Jim's head.

He started of slowly, as if to taunt Sherlock. Sherlock pushed himself further into his partner's mouth, making him involuntarily gag. But Jim didn't mind, he continued on.

Jim brought his hand to cover the base of Sherlock's still exposed cock and began pumping while he sucked the head. Sherlock pushed himself up, propping himself on his one free elbow while his other arm continued to follow the rhythm of Jim's head. His stomach begun to clench and he knew he was close. He didn't warn Jim because somehow he always knew.

"I'm-I'm c-c..." Unable to finish his sentence, Jim already knew what he was going to say. Within the last three seconds before Sherlock climaxed, he completely inserted Sherlock's dick into his mouth until there was nothing left to see.

This pushed Sherlock over the edge.

Streams of cum came spewing out and into Jim's mouth. It was a fantasy that only Sherlock allowed himself to experience. He fell against the mattress, breathing so heavily.

Slowly, Jim released Sherlock from his mouth and kept his lips tightly squeezed Sherlock kept his eyes opened and locked on Jim, watching the muscles in Jim's throat move as he swallowed the load.

Sherlock rolled over onto his stomach, panting into the pillows. He closed his eyes, feeling unconsciousness greeting him until someone - Jim - pulled his hair. Jim hovered over Sherlock, bringing his lips close to his ear.

"Don't fall asleep yet, love." Jim whispered. "It's my turn."


	2. Invasion

Chapter 2

"He's lying." Sherlock concluded, sitting on a chair. He was facing their newest prisoner, whom was chained up to the stone wall. His head hung low, blood oozing from his neck, arms, and thighs. He was barely breathing in result to his windpipe being strangled by his captor.

Jim glared back at their captive. The katana in his hand, still dripping with blood, was raised to his chest. The sword threatened to pierce the sensitive skin.

"Tell me the truth." Jim spat through his teeth, inches away from the prisoner's face. The prisoner was inaudible, mumbling unintelligibly. The caused Jim to press the sword enough to create a small cut. The prisoner screamed, his voice ringing in the ears of anyone nearby. Blood began to drip from the little gash. The prisoner had lost so much blood that he was nearing unconsciousness. "If you can scream that loud, _speak _that loud!" Jim growled.

But the prisoner's body fell loose, the only things keeping him up were his chained hands. His body sagged, the chains cutting against his skin. Jim sighed in anger and frustration. He threw the katana across the room and it landed with a loud _clang_. Jim brought his hands to his face, wanting to scratch it off. He brought his hands up to his hair and curled his fingers, pulling at it.

"When will they stop?!" He shouted in frustration. Sherlock stood up, cautiously walking over to his furious lover and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closely to his chest.

"Not until they find us." Sherlock murmured. Jim instantly relaxed.

"They give up so easily, don't they? The captives?" Jim snorted, looking over his shoulder at the beaten man.

Sherlock pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to disagree with the whole system.

"Perhaps we should hire a nurse or a doctor of a sort." Sherlock suggested carefully.

Jim looked up into the glasz eyes that peered down at him. "What for?"

"To look after all these people." Sherlock explained. "We can't keep killing them off."

"Why not?"

"Because we don't have enough information. We can't keep killing off the only source of information we got."

"We have Sebastian, Sherlock." Jim pointed out, pushing out of Sherlock hold. He folded his arms suspiciously, slightly disappointed in Sherlock's caring humanity; sentiment.

"You're getting soft-hearted." Jim retorted with disgust, walking over to the corner of the room to pick up his katana.

Sherlock bit his lip. "How well is Sebastian doing since he was shot?"

"Damn assassins." Jim muttered under his breath. "Okay, I see your point. I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock sighed in relief. Jim smiled, making his way back to Sherlock whom kissed his forehead before exiting the dungeon. Once Sherlock left, Jim turned around facing the opposing wall of the beaten man.

The opposing wall had a row of assassins they kidnapped, all injected with a drowsy chemical. The chemical was beginning to wear out and a few already noticed where they were and what was happening.

"Who's next?" Jim smirked.

* * *

Sherlock sat on his chair, staring outside a window.

The view was marvellous. They were completely isolated in a prairie, overlooking a valley. When the sun rose at the beginning of dawn, the light would illuminate the field, creating shadows when it hit the uneven curves of the ground. Laced patterns of pink, orange, and yellow iridescently painted the sky while little patches of white clouds added a little brightness.

Sherlock looked away, closing his eyes as he entered the comfort of his mind palace. Jim rarely ever interrupted Sherlock when he was in deep thought and rarely, he'd make an appearance. One of those rare moments were happening.

Sherlock, standing in the middle of his mind palace, stared at the apparition of Jim. Jim looked emotionless, blank, and unstable. His beady black eyes were an empty voice of hatred and lust. This wasn't the first time Sherlock has seen Jim like that.

* * *

~Mind Palace~

"Get out of my head." Sherlock demanded, his voice echoed with authority.

Jim just stood still in place. He was wearing all black: his t-shirt, his pants, and his shoes. His hair was messy, dishevelled. He looked like a true serial killer. If he had a gun in his hand and an army of his own, he would be deadly. Sherlock saw that plainly in his eyes. He always knew what Jim was like underneath the layer he only allowed Sherlock to see.

"Get out!" Sherlock yelled. His voice boomed loudly, affecting his throat. "Get out of here! I don't want to see you!"

Jim's right arm bent behind his back and slowly came back into view. Except this time, a pistol was in his hand. He raised his arm, the gun pointed directly at Sherlock's face. His finger placed itself on the trigger, his thumb pulling on the hammer before aiming between my eyes.

"You're a monster. A cold-blooded murderer." Sherlock said shakily. "You feel nothing. You never have. You're not human."

What happened next surprised Sherlock. Jim laughed. He laughed coldly, hatred now overpowering the lust in his eyes. He didn't look amused.

"Do it." Sherlock taunted, raising his voice. "_Do it_! Kill me!"

Without wasting so much as a heartbeat, Jim pulled the trigger. The shot rang through Sherlock's ears as he collapsed onto the floor. For the last second of his life, he saw Jim lower the gun and walk away, leaving him to die in his own mind.

This happened often.

* * *

"Sherlock?" A sickly sweet voice called out. "Sherlock, are you okay?"

Sherlock opened his eyes, breathing out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He was met by the worried gaze of his partner, whom reached out to touch his shoulder. Sherlock jerked away, getting up quickly and brushing past Jim. He stopped in front of the window, concentrating at the sun's light. It fiercely shone, and Sherlock's eyes didn't steer away from it. He needed something to keep him distracted.

"It happened again, didn't it?" Jim whispered, his voice small like an innocent child trying to apologize for wrong doings. Sherlock didn't respond. He heard Jim sigh and slowly approach him. He could feel his presence, the feel of his arms snaking around his waist as he forced himself not to cringe at the touch. "You know it isn't real, right?" Sherlock didn't say anything. "Sherlock? Come on, talk to me." Still, Sherlock stayed quiet, unmoving. As the seconds ticked by, he felt the absence of Jim's arms around him and turned around to realize that Jim left him alone. He sighed.

It wasn't the same anymore. At least, not for him. The euphoria he once felt with Jim was gone. He was no longer happy, but tired, annoyed, and lonely. Yes, although Jim was his partner, it only benefited him sexually. Sherlock may describe himself as a sociopath, but he isn't as phlegmatic and oblivious as he leads on.

If Jim ever found out how he truly felt, he wouldn't be able to live. Not because he will lose one of the few people that cared for him, but because Jim simply wouldn't allow it.

Not without a fight.


	3. Trust

Chapter 3

"No, Sebastian, you know who I'm talking about. Get him. Now!" Jim shouted into the cell phone. He was ordering Sebastian Moran to offer one of his old friends from the army for a position in their little organization they have going.

Jim Moriarty wanted a reliable doctor to count on, especially due to their need of secrecy. Jim knew he couldn't put ads in the newspapers or online, so he came to the conclusion that he needed to be more resourceful. Being well-informed that Sebastian was a veteran, he took this to his advantage. Who better to ask for such a position, than an old friend of Seb? Especially one with a deep, dirty secret to hide.

Jim threw his cell phone at the wall, angry and frustrated. If it weren't for Sherlock, he wouldn't have to be hiring someone to look after their prisoners. In Jim's mind, they're all better off dead. If they can't handle a mission to kill him, then they are of no use. They all seemed weak, unintelligent, and unskilled. It was pitiful, having to let them die in a dirty, rotten dungeon. But that was the price they had to pay for going up against someone like Jim.

There was a time where these spies were sent to kidnap or hurt Sherlock, just to antagonize Jim. The last time that happened, Jim decapitated their heads off and sent them back to an enclosed address. After that incident, the spies were specifically instructed not to touch Sherlock. Whoever was sending these spies knew Jim was kidding around, that he would kill a whole city just for his one true love if it meant to keep him safe. Though Jim knew what he was up against, he just couldn't figure out one important question: who?

Everyone wanted Sherlock, specifically his intelligence and incredible deducing skills. Being as selfish as he is, Jim had to hide him. He couldn't let anyone near what belonged to him. That's exactly what he did. He kept Sherlock hidden from the world and made sure no one would find him.

Almost no one.

Jim sighed, resting his elbows on his desk. He stared at the shattered pieces of his cell phone. Sebastian was unable to find the army doctor he lost touch with. He believed that he was living somewhere on the outskirts of London, living in a small apartment. Other than that, Sebastian didn't have anymore information.

"James?" Sherlock queried. He stood at the threshold of Jim's office. It didn't matter how many times Jim reminded him to call him 'Jim' rather than his legal birth name 'James', Sherlock would never remember to say it. Sherlock looked down at the shards of glass and broken pieces of plastic that lay at the foot of the North wall. "What happened?" Sherlock really didn't need the story, but he knew he had to be courteous. Jim hated it when Sherlock was unemotional.

"Incompetence." He sighed again, shaking his head. "I've got things to do, Sherlock." He uttered, getting up. "Go away, you're such a distraction."

Sherlock smirked, stepping into the room. "Thank you." He inched closer towards Jim.

"I didn't mean it as a compliment." Jim frowned.

"Yes you did." Sherlock smiled widely.

Jim, unable to keep his poker face, broke into a smile. "Yeah, okay I did."

He walked up to Sherlock and stared into his eyes with an expression that only illustrated as wonder, awe, and curiosity. "Are you as bored as I am?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"Well," Jim began, drawing out the word. "how about you and I-"

"Jim." Sherlock interrupted him. "You're thinking sadistic thoughts."

"I must. It's in my job description." He joked, though Sherlock concluded that his sadistic state of mind was a personality trait, rather than a necessity to the criminal network.

"You're very talented in that area." Sherlock commented, the truth in his own words were astonishingly accurate.

"Not as much as you. You can practically read minds." Jim's smile grew even wider, showing his teeth. "I love how you can read my mind...you always know what I want."

They shared a quiet moment with each other, nothing but the sound of their guards making their rounds in and around the mansion. Jim wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, drawing the taller man closer to him until their bodies touched. He pressed his head against Sherlock's chest, listening to the subtle rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Any word on the army doctor yet?" Sherlock queried abruptly, for the sake of conversation. "Is Sebastian able to find him?"

Jim looked up, tearing himself away from the calming beating of his first love's heart. "Sebastian is failing us."

"Sebastian is loyal."

"And slow."

"But he's smart." Sherlock interjected, pushing Jim away. He walked over to Jim's desk and quickly scanned the papers that lay on the table. He read a profile on the army doctor, but there was no picture of the lad. By the brief scan, Sherlock knew this army doctor was impressive. "He will find the doctor. He always does what he's told."

Jim had to agree. There were several times where Sebastian was far away from success, but never once has he ever completely failed them. He always pulled through, even if the alternative decisions were usually unplanned. It was one of the main reasons why Sebastian was their right-hand man. Jim had a lot of faith in him.

Jim's smile faltered. "You have a lot of trust in him." Jim remarked, trying hard not to sound jealous.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, a snarky attitude evident in his expression. "I don't trust anyone, Jim."

"I'm the one exception." Jim sighed, stating it as a fact.

Sherlock smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "You're the one exception."


	4. Guilt

Chapter 4

"Good, bring him in." Jim ordered into the microscopic microphone. He released his finger from the microphone button and pressed the buzzer, allowing the front yard gates to unlock.

"He's early." Sherlock remarked, darting his eyes towards the clock.

"Like you said," Jim began, walking towards his office window. "Sebastian always pulls through."

Sherlock walked out of the room and proceeded down the narrow hallway. He stepped into his study and sat down on his chair, closing his eyes. He waited, his ears perking at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. After a few seconds, he heard Sebastian's deep, baritone voice break the silence.

"Mr. Moriarty," He greeted monotonously. "I've brought you Dr. John H. Watson."

Sherlock opened his eyes, his curiosity getting the better of him. He quietly tiptoed to the threshold of his study and creaked open the door. He peered his head through the slightly opened door. Making sure that no one was around to see him leave his room, then he walked steadily towards Jim's office.

Sherlock pushed open the door. "Jim, I-" Sherlock pretended to make his entrance accidental.

"Sherlock!" Jim smiled gleefully. "This is Dr. John H. Watson. He's going to be taking care of our guests."

"He refuses to elaborate the initial." Sebastian interjected, towards Jim. Jim looked utterly indifferent.

He shrugged. "No matter. We only need his expertise. Now, if you follow me, I'll show you where you'll be spending most of your time. Sebastian, follow along. I'll need you as a secondary source of information for Dr. Watson, in case he forgets something."

Sebastian nodded once, quick. "Yes, Mr. Moriarty."

Jim brushed past Sherlock, pecking his lips quickly before parting. Sebastian followed closely behind his boss. John stayed in the room, looking startled and uncertain. He glanced at Sherlock, frowning.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock greeted, awkwardly.

John gave a quick, forced smile. "John. H. Watson."

John began to walk out of the room, but then turned around and looked back at Sherlock. "What exactly is this place?"

Sherlock didn't break eye-contact. "Our last resort."

John looked down, nodded as if to say he understood, but Sherlock knew he didn't.

"Hamish." Sherlock muttered. Absentmindedly, attempting to give a good impression on John. He could have told the doctor more, but he didn't want to come across as creepy.

John went rigid and glared back at Sherlock. "Excuse me?"

"Your middle name." Sherlock explained. "Hamish, isn't it?"

John stood there, gaping at Sherlock with wonder. "Yes...how did you know that?"

Sherlock nodded towards his shirt. "Your shirt. It's military, correct?"

John nodded, his eyes softening with fascination. "Yes."

"Your tag's showing; your name's written on it." Sherlock said, and with one long look, he walked past John Watson and into his study.

John turned around, watching Sherlock leave. He remained stunned.

* * *

John had followed after Sherlock into their underground dungeon seconds after Sherlock deduced his middle name. Sherlock was a little bit embarrassed about feeling ashamed and guilty that he allowed Jim to keep a torture chamber. He didn't want John to know that they had one. In fact, he didn't want John to be anywhere near this place.

He didn't want anyone else to be dragged into their mess.

But this thought was very hypocritical. Sherlock was the one to suggest hiring a doctor to look after the prisoners. And it baffled him as to why he felt ashamed to be part of Jim's organized cruelty.

Ignoring the uncomfortable knots tied in his stomach, Sherlock pushed opened the heavy metal door that lead to the dungeons. Upon entering the dark room, he heard John audibly gasp.

Jim stood in the middle of the torture chamber, admiring the row of badly beaten prisoners hanging on the wall. All of were hung from chains; metal clasping around their wrists, supported by seven chain links so that they were forced to keep their arms up. Their feet were tied and chained up to anvils that were placed two feet in front of each of them. Most of them had their ankles bent, supporting themselves with their ankle bones because they were too tired to stand upright.

Every prisoner was filthy. Dried blood decorated their stomach, cuts, gashes, and gaping holes were littered all across their torso, arms, and legs. Their hair was soaked with grease and sweat, irritating their skin. They were stripped of their clothing, wearing only their undergarments. Jim made sure that they had little to no dignity left once he was done with them. Some didn't even have under garments on.

Jim hated it when the prisoners started to smell. None of them had a proper shower in weeks, some even months. But that doesn't mean that they weren't hosed off.

Jim brought in the garden hose through the window and sprayed them down with freezing cold water. Some prisoners opened their mouths to drink the water, because they were only allowed one water bottle per day along with one half-meal.

Along with horrendous hygiene, the majority of them were malnourished. Their rib cages were prominent, hip bones protruding and looking as though it would cut right through the skin, hands and feet looking as though someone simply put skin on a skeleton and forgot the muscles.

Jim held his favourite tool - a whip - in his hand and smiled deviously at his hostages.

"Everyone!" Jim chimed. "Pay close attention. I need you all on your best behaviour because I've brought you a guest."

The prisoners reluctantly held their heads up, some groaning at the pain they felt in their neck as well as everywhere else. Their eyes fixed on Dr. John Watson, curious sparking a couple of them. Others fought the urge to faint.

"Here is Dr. Watson. I've hired him to take care of the lot of you. Most of you can barely keep your heads up." Jim remarked with annoyance. "Now, you must treat him nicely otherwise you won't see him again. He's the only one that will voluntarily take care of your wounds."

Some of the prisoners looked grateful, but others hung their head. All of them knew that there was absolutely no point to having a doctor if Jim would come back to punish them again. The optimistic prisoners were thankful, because they'd rather be alive than to be dead. They would take any chance that will allow them to heal and gain strength.

Sherlock looked at John, wondering what was going through his mind. John stared blankly at the prisoners lined up on the wall; his back straight, shoulders square, chin up and his feet exactly six inches apart. John was stood like a soldier. Sherlock concluded that he used this method to hide the utter astonishment he was hiding.

"Dr. Watson, if you can follow me, I'll show you where our supplies are and where you'll be staying." Jim said after a moment of silence.

John nodded once, firmly, before marching out of the room. Sherlock watched as John walked away, then glanced at the prisoners who proceeded to hang their hands and loosely stand against the wall.

His guilt only grew stronger.


	5. Sympathy

Chapter 5

Dr. Watson had been working for Jim for few weeks now.

Sebastian kept guard, making sure that Dr. Watson did nothing to threaten their secure location. Sherlock kept a watchful eye on the army doctor, too. He observed that the poor man was over tired, over worked, and was under a lot of stress. Although Jim was being patient, Sherlock could tell that Jim was ready to punish the spies again.

Sherlock did whatever he could to get Jim to calm down, to relax and think of something else. However, not even Sherlock was enough to distract Jim. Jim was violent when became impatient and angry. He needed a stress reliever. And if he couldn't punish his prisoners, he was going to punish Sherlock.

Sherlock was bigger than Jim. But Jim was quicker, swifter, and slick. He's the King of this operation; of course had skills. He knew all of Sherlock's weak spots. He knew what it took to get Sherlock down on his knees, begging for mercy. Jim had done it before, once, when Sherlock pried a little too much about his background.

"I don't want to hear it, Sherlock!" Jim hissed, his voice cold and unforgiving.

Sherlock flinched, taking a step back. Both of them were standing in Jim's office. It was nearly midnight, most of the guards were resting, one or two of them still roaming around. The technological side of security was at its maximum during the night.

Jim didn't care if anybody heard his tirade, he just wanted to relieve himself of the stress he bottled up. "I don't care if Dr. Watson is tired. I pay him to look after our prisoners. They don't even deserve the treatment they're receiving. I'm only doing this because of _you_!"

Sherlock looked away, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He deduced Jim was in a reckless, infuriated state, and if he said or did the wrong thing, he will surely be put in his place.

"Do you have a little crush on our army doctor, Sherlock? Have you developed a new kink?" Jim asked, a little too sweetly. Sherlock closed his eyes, but that didn't stop the uncomfortable tingle that went down his spine when he felt Jim's body inch closer and closer towards him. "Tell me, Sherly, have you been pondering?"

Sherlock felt Jim's finger slide itself up his chest, fondling with one of his shirt's buttons.

"No, Jim, why would I do that?" Sherlock denied it, and he wasn't lying. Jim stopped being flirtatious and walked away.

"You know how I feel about lies, Sherlock." Jim said, his tone playful but dangerous. Dangerous was an understatement. It was down right terrifying. The subtext in every phrase he speaks when he's angry is enough to make anyone shiver in fear. "But it's a good thing, though..."

Jim's voice sounded distant, and Sherlock opened his eyes. Jim was sitting on his chair, fiddling around with a pen and paper.

"That you didn't lie." Jim finally said, scribbling nonsense on paper. Sherlock relaxed. "But I order you to stay away from him, Sherlock." He demanded, more firmly.

"Of course." Sherlock agreed. Sherlock knew it wasn't wise to question Jim's demands. He always had a reason for it.

"I mean it." Jim pressed, staring straight into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock only nodded.

* * *

Sherlock wandered the mansion for a while, thinking about what Jim said. Why was he being so persistent about staying away from the doctor? Was he feeling jealous? _Probably, _Sherlock thought. Jim was always possessive, always wanting Sherlock for himself. It was also one of the many reasons why they moved to a secluded area.

"Hey, Sherlock?" The army doctor called out from the entrance towards the dungeons.

Sherlock, whom had his back facing John, turned around. "Is something the matter?" Sherlock asked.

John Watson had blood on his hands, wiping it off with a white handkerchief. It wasn't doing anything because most of the blood had already dried on the surface of his skin. His eyes were tired, drained of all emotion. He had dark, purple bruises under his eyes, signifying how much sleep he's been getting since he started living at the mansion.

"I'm in need of assistance. Sebastian isn't really good with suturing." John explained. Sherlock wanted to say no. He wanted to tell the doctor that perhaps it wasn't a good idea, but really, if he needs help with stitching someone up, is it really moral to ignore?

So, Sherlock nodded. "All right. Quickly."

With a grateful, small smile, John Watson went back down the stairs with Sherlock following closely behind. Once they were both in the room, Sherlock took note that Sebastian wasn't even there.

John knelt in front of a prisoner, one who was unconscious. John probably injected him with a sleeping drug. John picked up the needle and thread that hung loosely from the open wound of the prisoner. The unconscious man was losing a lot of blood. Too much.

"Are you good with a needle and thread? I need to give him a blood transfusion and I need you to finish stitching him up before he bleeds out." John stated, holding up the needle expectantly.

Sherlock took it, kneeling down on the blood-stained floor. "I can do it."

"Good, that's good." John sighed with relief, hopping back onto his feet and walking towards a black duffel bag located in a corner of the room. While John retrieved the blood bags and necessary equipment, Sherlock stitched the man up. Although he wasn't a professional and most definitely not a doctor, he knew how to sew someone up. He had to when Sebastian was shot.

John hooked up the equipment, had the IV ready, and once he finished setting everything up, he checked in with Sherlock.

"Done?" He queried, blatantly.

Sherlock nodded, biting off the black thread from the needle. John bent down to look at his work, smiling with satisfaction. "Nice work."

"Is that all you'll be needing?" Sherlock inquired, wondering why he bothered to ask in the first place. He knew that if he stayed any longer, he's risking getting caught by Jim. _It's courteous, _Sherlock tried to convince himself.

"Yes, thanks. The help was appreciated." John said, then yawned.

Sherlock bit his lip, sympathy overwhelming his mind. "You should sleep more often." He blurted.

"If only I had the chance." John sighed tiredly and began to clean up the mess.

Sherlock looked away. Maybe he could talk to Jim about letting John have a day off. The man hasn't had a good night's sleep in weeks; it will probably have horrible effects on his health later on. With a last glance at John's direction, Sherlock left.

He must talk to Jim about John, no matter if it displeases him or not.


	6. Dominance

**Trigger Warning: Spanking (with a belt).  
This is to remind you the power Jim still holds over Sherlock. Sorry I haven't updated in a long time. Motivation is key. Review, please.**

* * *

Chapter 6

Sherlock lay awake in his shared bed, Jim lying next to him. Jim was already asleep, facing Sherlock. His eyes were closed, as they should be. It was peaceful when Jim slept; everything was at ease. No pressure. Jim had an arm draped over Sherlock's bare chest.

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, unable to succumb to unconsciousness. His mind was racing with thoughts. Each one of them revolving around their new employee. Sherlock couldn't pin point exactly why his mind was out of control or why he wasn't able to think about anything other than the doctor. It bothered him.

It bothered Jim more.

Sherlock could hear John tossing and turning in the next room; both bedroom doors were wide open. Privacy wasn't everyone's first priority that night. Sherlock knew why John was restless - surely no one could mentally handle a job like his. To treat injured prisoners and know that they will be punished later isn't moral. In fact, Sherlock knew that John felt as though he was somehow responsible for this. John knew what was happening to the prisoners, but he couldn't do anything about it. He could only fix them up over and over again. Jim would have him killed if he disobeyed. That much was clear.

Sherlock closed his eyes, pretending he couldn't hear John's laboured breathing or his continuous tossing and turning.

Within a few minutes, Sherlock forced shut down. Although his body had completely shut down, his mind was still wide awake.

* * *

Early the next morning, Sherlock was woken up by something warm. A body.

"Are you awake now?" Jim whispered hotly into Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock didn't want to answer him. He didn't want to wake up and see Jim's beady eyes first thing in the morning. "Mmm." Sherlock hummed, fighting the urge to groan.

Jim pressed his slim body against Sherlock's side, his hand resting on Sherlock's chest, fingers creating intricate patterns. Jim was bored. Jim's always bored. Especially in the mornings. And that's where Sherlock comes in handy.

"I want to play, Sherly." Jim whined, sounding childish. He swung his leg over, spooning him.

Sherlock felt uneasiness in his core, gnawing at his insides. He felt trapped even though he knew he could easily escape his predicament. Senselessly, Sherlock shoved Jim away, pushing him with great force that Jim nearly fell off the bed.

Jim's eyes widened, feeling shocked. Sherlock's never done that.

"Oh you've done it now." Jim spat through his clenched teeth. His shock subsided, and rage took over. He was angry at Sherlock's hostility.

Jim stood up, walking to his closet. Sherlock laid rigidly on the bed, watching Jim saunter to the closet. Jim walked inside, grabbing something. Sherlock couldn't identify it. That is, until Jim walked back out, a belt in hand. It was in a loop, and Jim smacked his with it repeatedly, mimicking a bully who'd mockingly punch their fist in order to intimidate their target.

"Turn over!" Jim commanded, his voice boomed. Their bedroom door was still opened.

Sherlock obeyed.

Jim crept up to Sherlock's side of the bed, and he smiled devilishly down at his favourite lover. "Take these off." Jim ordered, tapping Sherlock's boxers with the belt.

And Sherlock obeyed.

"Look how lovely you are..." Jim cooed, tracing the curve of Sherlock's arse. "...and you're all mine."

Sherlock cringed, shoving his face into the pillow. He was being violated, but then again, what else is new? Jim's always been like this, so why does it bother him now? He couldn't fight back. Not now. He needed a plan. He must endure this, just one more time for the sake of freedom.

"You can't treat me like that, Sherlock." Jim's voice was on the edge of danger. "For that, you'll be punished. Oh, but you like my punishing you, don't you?"

Sherlock grit his teeth.

"I know you do." Jim brought his arm out, clutching the leather belt tightly in his hand and swung forward, whipping Sherlock's bottom. "A few dozen more, Sherly."

Sherlock bit his lip, his fists grabbing the bed sheets. The pain was almost unbearable to the point where Sherlock prayed he passed out. That's how Jim liked to punish. He liked to punish and then do the after care. It was sick, twisted. But it got Jim off.

"Stop," Whip. "pretending," Whip. "that you," Whip. "don't like it!"

He whipped Sherlock's bottom until it was red, on the verge of bleeding. he stepped back to admire his work, adoring the way Sherlock shuddered. Sherlock was trembling, almost crying. Tears stung his eyes and he felt like vomiting.

"Now look at me, sweetie." Jim said, his voice a little softer. Sherlock lifted his head, a tear escaping his eye. Unexpectedly, Jim whipped the side of Sherlock's cheek, catching him off guard. A large red cut appeared across Sherlock's cheek bone, instantly oozing blood. "I'm sorry." Jim uttered, heartlessly. "But you're not allowed to treat me like that."

Jim threw the belt onto the floor and knelt next to the bed. Sherlock was facing him, doing everything in his power to block out the pain. Jim reached out for Sherlock and stroked his bloody cheek. "Get up now. Go to Dr. Watson to get that cheek stitched up. Then come right back to me. I promise I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

Jim stared longingly at his abused lover whom laid limply on the bed. "I only do what's best for you."

Sherlock only nodded.

"And Sherlock?" Jim said, pushing Sherlock's bangs from his eyes. "I love you. You belong to me."


End file.
